His Precious Inheritance (Inspirational Historical Romance) by Dorothy Clark Page A

longer. And dark, rather heavy eyebrows...and blue eyes. A strong chin and a—” his image flashed before her “—a charming smile. No. It’s more of a grin...sort of crooked and self-deprecating, you know, like a boy that has been caught at some mischief.”
    Her mother’s eyes widened. “Charming...”
    “Did I say that?”
    “You did.” Her mother’s gaze narrowed on her. “You said Mr. Thornberg has a charming smile.”
    She snorted, waved the description away. “I suppose it is—given the right circumstances.” She turned her attention back to the work. “Now...you can write on the box—be mindful of this scratch—then put the finished work inside it. But don’t do too much. I don’t want you to tire yourself.”
    “Clarice, have you forgotten I fed and cared for a flock of chickens, cleaned their coop, slopped and mucked out pens for over a dozen hogs and took care of the garden and the house and—” her mother shook her head, picked up a pencil and smiled “—and made lots of preserves. I’ll start with your favorite.”
    Rhubarb Jam
    Select fresh red rhubarb in pieces one inch long, take sugar pound for pound. Cook together and let stand all night. In the morning pour off the syrup and boil it until it begins to thicken. Put in the rhubarb and heat...
    She left her mother to her work, walked to the desk and opened the directions manual for the typewriter she’d brought home with her. Her mouth firmed as she read the words across the top of the length of the last page.
Diagram of Key-board of the No. 2 Remington Typewriter (Actual Size).
    She laid the page down on the desk, tugged her chair close and placed the fingers of her left hand on the
A-S-D-F
keys on the paper, closed her eyes and repeated the names of the letters over and over, tapping the corresponding finger on the paper key. Her index finger she used for the
G
key, also. When she was satisfied she had them memorized, she moved to the right side of the key-board and did the same with her right hand. “
J-K-L
colon and semicolon. And also the
H
.”
    “What are you doing, Clarice?”
    “I’m learning to use the typewriter, Mama. See...” She rose and carried the manual to the bed, showed the key-board to her mother. “I put my fingers on the keys, thus...” She placed them as the manual advised. “And now to write—type—a word I just push down the right keys. Watch me do your name...
h
...” She pushed down her right index finger. “Oh, no, that’s wrong. I must push down this key that says Upper Case first.” She pushed the key on the left side of the bottom row above the space bar then pushed down with her right index finger again. “Capital
H
... Now I push the upper-case key down again to disengage it. And then I press the rest of the letters...” She peered down at the key-board and found them. “
e...l...e...n
. There! I have typed your name. If I were using the typewriter, your name would be printed on a piece of paper beneath the...the roller thing. See. Here it is.” She opened the manual to the picture of the typewriter with all of the parts named.
    “You have to learn all of that just to write my name?” Her mother shook her head, laughed and lifted the pencil she held into the air. “I’ll use this, thank you.”
    “Well, I am going to learn how to use this typewriter. And I am going to learn it without Mr. Thornberg’s help. And you can help me, Mama.” She carried the manual back to the desk. “When I have all of these keys memorized, and I have practiced enough that my fingers don’t trip all over each other trying to find them, I will sit over there by the bed and you can call out words for me to type. I will keep my eyes closed, and you can watch my fingers and tell me if I hit the right keys. I am going to type better and faster than anyone else at the
Journal
—including Mr. Thornberg. That will show him my value as an employee.”
    She placed her fingers over the center row on the